


August, 8th. 1997, Somewhere on the Outskirts of Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

by ArchTroop



Series: EasyRush [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean POV, M/M, Sam POV, Smoking, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, a train wreck of thoughts, eyebrow raising teen angst, from banter to flirting, language! language!, mood swing rollercoaster, mostly Dean's POV, shifting pov's, weird teen humor, well hello there possessive Dean Winchester where have you been hiding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7143095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchTroop/pseuds/ArchTroop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys are squatting for the night. They are tired, on edge and all in all - a bit confused. Weirdness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 02:32:17

Dean kicked the mattress, testing it.  
“Hmm. Will do. Go wash and brush your teeth, I’ll make the bed.”   
“The mattress. You mean the mattress. There is no bed here.” Sam bitched.  
“Tomāto Tomäto. Scoot!” Dean punched Sam’s shoulder with no actual anger behind it.  
“Ow!” Sam leaned away from the punch, somewhat unsuccessfully, and brushed his brother’s hand away. “ _Jerk._ Fine. Where is the bag with our clean stuff, anyway…? ‘am out of underwear.” Threw Sam, distracted, and turned around to look.

Dean walked over to the beat up closet at the corner.  
He scoffed at it: It was missing a door and half of its shelves, and smelled of peeled lemons. Sighing defeatedly, he began studying the content of the unlucky piece of furniture, resulting in a stream of trash flying all over, including predictable things like hangers and old newspapers, mixed up with an unpredictable withered bouquet, a pile of used condom wrappers (accompanied with a “Blach! some people…!”), a dog leash (accompanied with a snarky ”..those people…!”), two mini skirts (”well that’s getting better..”) and one cowboy boot, of all things (”Just one..?”). Finding nothing useful, Dean proceeded to the higher shelves.  
“Would you ever try to _find_ the thing first, and then - when you decide you were unsuccessful at your mission - _only then_ , ask?” Dean grumbled, still looking through the closet. “It would make - “ He sputtered as he reached to the highest shelf, “ - so much more sense. Ha! Found it. A sheet. Nice. Oooh, a pillow! Jackpot! Wait, what, just one? Everything is one in this shithole- ”   
Dean turned around to see a grumpy, glaring Sam, with his arms crossed over his chest, his bangs sticking to his forehead, his eyes tired and sunken.  
Dean released a deep, defeated sigh. It was a long day.  
“It’s behind the one with the body parts. What?” Dean chuckled at Sam’s disgusted face. ”Dad and I are gonna bury it tomorrow. Hey, I’m not thrilled about it either, but the - thing - we can’t have him resurfacing on the street just like that, covered in all that voodoo crap tattoos. It’s no good. Plus,” He pointed at Sam, “we need a special kind of burial grounds so he won’t walk again.”  
Sam sighed, his hands dropping to his sides. “And it won’t burn?”  
“Nah. Some curse! Dad was furious!” Dean snorted and shook his head, busying himself with the sheet. “We tried every possible flammable, - you were with the cops - gasoline, oil. Medical alcohol. Gunpowder. Just wouldn’t fuckin’ burn. You missed quit the show - dad used all of his cursing vocabulary on this pile of dismembered - thing. I was almost cryin’, it was hysterical. It just wouldn’t burn!” Laughed Dean, as if trying to burn the corpse of an undead being and failing at it was such a good memory.  
Sam couldn’t keep his irritated, serious expression anymore. He smiled and gave out a small, yawny laugh. “Dad got riled up because of a pile of dismembered zombie crap. That’s one for the history books, most certainly.” He picked up the bag he needed and walked to the bathroom, shaking his head in amused disbelief.  
  
Dean, now completely entangled in the sheet, laughed and shouted, “Don’t worry, the parts are all well wrapped in plastic!”  
“I know! I wrapped the legs myself! I just thought you left it in the car!” Sam yelled back at him from the bathroom.  
Dean finished his task, cursing through and through, then threw a judgmental stare at their only pillow. _Could always hack it in two I guess…_  
He sighed, turned around and sat right on the bag with the body parts, staring at the ceiling casually while undoing his boots. He had a thought, and it was bugging him. “Huh.”  
“Everything ok?” Asked Sam, peeking out from the bathroom, with his toothbrush stuck between his teeth.  
Dean turned his glance at Sam and his toothbrush. “Yeah, yeah. All good. It’s just. This was one fucked up hunt. I mean, it was snackin’ on _pets_. Specifically. What’s up with that? Why voodoo-up a _zombie,_ and just go and unleash it with the desire to munch on yorkies? What’s the fuckin’ deal? Voodoo priests, Sammy, I swear, they’re nuts. They have no reason to do what they do. No fuckin’ _MOTIVE.”_ Dean complained. “I don’t get it. People are crazy.”  
Sam pulled out his toothbrush and pointed at Dean’s impromptu sitting choice “Well, at least the thing is… _immobile_ \- “ he commented, with dry amusement, “ - for real now, and in bits and pieces. No need to worry anymore.” He shrugged, then walked back to the sink and turned on the water. “The priest was long dead, no one to go after. Leave it. That’s what you would’ve said to me.”  
“’Suppose you are right.” Dean got up and switched places with Sam. “you go to sleep, I’ll be right over. I smell of…  _gasoline._ Again. And coocking oil. I think. Have to wash it the fuck off.”

“Yeah, sure.”   
  
A minute later, Dean came in, turning off the lights, leaving the room to the mercy of any ray of light brave enough to pass the filthy remnants of glass, still attached to the window frame, _on god’s will alone as it seemed - or just sheer, old fashioned, pathetic stubbornness._  
”This is the lowest of the lows we had ever squatted in, Dean.” Commented Sam, as if reading Dean’s mind. He was sitting cross legged, scratching his shoulder, and sporting the look of a person too tired to actually sleep.  
“Unfortunately, yes. But hey, as long as there is a roof…” Dean rationalized with a yawn and a shrug, shirtless and not nearly dry enough. A rude drop of water was making its way down his navel. There was also a set of eyes following it.  
And another set of eyes was following this set, knowing, measuring.  
  
In a sudden motion, Dean threw his towel at Sam, who caught it without putting much thought to it, and catapulted it to the other corner of the room.   
_Static electricity._  
Sam stared back and they locked gazes.   
_It’s a game of chicken. In reverse._  
  
Sam. Sam was the one to break the moment. He stretched and turned over on his stomach, crashing into the pillow and planting his hands beneath it. “Oh god — I am gonna melt. These temperatures are killing me!”  
“Then take off your shirt.” Said Dean casually, climbing over Sam to the other side of the bed - _mattress_ ,where it was pressed to the wall and had a better potential for cool air. “And sweatpants. I know I will be sleeping in my underwear, for christ’s sake, it’s a damn furnace here."  _Well that took an unexpected turn._  
Sam grunted and turned around, “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled and pulled off his faded Ozzy shirt, clearly a familial legacy. Exhausted, he got stuck with his hands entangled in it over his head. Sam huffed and squirmed stubbornly, upper and upper, over the pillow, desperate to take it off, all in all achieving only one thing - a very disconcerting, maniacal laugh from his older brother. This was the last straw for the day as far as Sam was concerned.  
“It’s fuckin’ small, I told you, I TOLD YOU, it was way - ! But NOOO, it’s _OZZY,_ you can’t throw him away! Dean! Just! TAKE IT OFF ME!” He shouted, now somewhat frantic. _Overreacting. Well done little brother._  
“Fine! fine, stop moving, _STOP SNAKIN’ AROUND -_   _”_ Laughed Dean, and grabbed the trapping t-shirt by its hem and pulled.   
Sam emerged from underneath, heaving, blushing and annoyed. "Do me a favor and give it to charity.” He said dryly, after a moment of silence, and Dean’s muffled laugh.  
“I will. Promise.” Dean chuckled, his tongue between his teeth, and turned to face the print on his once favorite shirt. “Well, Ozzy, dear, it’s time to say goodbye. _It’s time for your eternal night!”_ He proclaimed, clearly talking to the t-shirt.  
Sam stared and squinted. “Dean. Stop. That’s. I had enough weird for one day, thank you.”.   
“Hey, you think we might dig it up from a good will box by some freaky coincidence one day? That would be so cool!” Dean suggested, eyes wide, all of his attention turned to Sam now, still holding the T-Shirt, as if on dispaly, all dorky and playful.  
Sam couldn’t hide his bitter laugh at the thought and his genuine amusement at his big brother.  
“…That’s.. more then just grim, Dean.” He huffed, a crooked smile on his face.  
“Eh, whatever.” Dean shrugged it off and threw the T-shirt away.  
Sam was past exhausted. He rubbed his eyelids and turned over to bury himself under the pillow. _Fakin’ sleep._  
Dean couldn’t. He was sitting upright, his skin prickly and itchy, and his mind on third gear going onward.   
_I’m looking for trouble. Trouble is looking for me._  
Ozzy stared at his previous owners from the floor.  
Dean stared back.  
_Yeah I’m one for crazy trains, aren’t I._  
  
The night was cloudless, and the illuminated shards of glass - _reminiscent of sharp stalactites, decorating the innards of a cav_ e - cast an intricate pattern over Sam’s back. _A geometric wonder, of thorns - or teeth, a bit like -_  
“Woaa, Sammy - “ Dean blurted suddenly.  
“What.”  
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me!” Said Dean, and poked Sam at his lower back.  
“Ow. Stop. What?… A scar?… A bruise…? Dosen’t hurt or anything…” Mummbled Sam into the mattress.  
“No dude. You. OH MY GOD, YOU ARE SUCH A GIRL, YOU GOT - “ Dean jumped of the mattress, right over Sam, and ran into the bathroom.   
_I need -_  
“What… _Dean - ”_ Sam exhaled a deep sigh, and turned over, coming to terms with his brothers’ sudden sugar-high mood. And to prove a point, he heard a rustle and the annoying screech of plastic against tile. Sam blinked, feeling the impending discord in his gut, and - of course, not a moment too late, Dean rushed back with the bathroom mirror in his hands.  
“You… took the mirror… off the wall.” Pointed out Sam dryly.  
“Yes.” Said Dean, apparently proud of himself, “dude, you GOTTA see them.”  
“…see what…?” Asked Sam, now suspicious, and uneasy.  
“Your _STRETCH MARKS!”_ Announced Dean. _\- a distraction._  
“I. DON’T. Have any stretch marks. What the hell - HEY!” Sam began, but it was futile, Dean flipped him over with one hand, the other still holding the mirror, two screws still hanging on it for their dear lives.  
“Here, look. It’s probably ‘cause you shot up so much this past year - “ Dean started explaining, trying to place the mirror in a way that will allow Sam to see his own lower back.  
“Oh. What the hell. Are these…?” Sam huffed, straining his neck backwards.  
“I swear you are such a girl, you even got stretch marks! Huh!” Laughed Dean.  
There was a moment of rustle and hustle, till Dean managed to place the mirror so Sam could see his own back perfectly.  
Sam frowned, trying to reach the afflicted areas with his fingers. “…are they gonna go away or am I stuck with 'em forever…?” he wondered, now all thoughtful and worrisome, and traced one of the marks, obtaining a difficult position to do so.  
“Hell if I know. But hey, who cares. It’s not like it’s an injury or somethin’. Hey Sam.” Dean silenced.  
“What.” Sam was still tracing the marks and scowling at the mirror.  
“They look like… _little shark fins!_ ” Barked Dean. That caught Sam off guard.  
He froze over, and slowly shifted his gaze from the mirror to Dean, who was forcefully muffling a stream of giggles. 

And that was it for him. Sam was tired, annoyed, and now he felt  _vulnerable_ , and he didn’t like it at all.   
Sam flipped over in a blink of an eye, surprising Dean. Grabbing the mirror and sliding it down to the floor. He tackled his big brother and dragged him over the mattress.  
“Stretch marks, huh? A girl, huh? Well, FUCK, I bet YOU got some of your own!” He seethed, both of them a mess of limbs and huffs and teeth. It wasn’t much of a fight, as both of them knew exactly how deadly they could be. It was more like two lion cubs fighting over an imaginary territorial privilege. Dean laughed and fought back, but he was right - Sam did shot up, and now, although not so bulky as him - Sam was indeed taller then before, and his strength - more prominent. Sam managed to flip Dean over, and nailed him by sitting on top of him, non apologetic and a little bit more then just giddy over his little victory.  
“Now. Lets see.” Sam exclaimed, still fighting to take control over Dean’s hands. “Oh for GOD’S Sake! STOP SQUIRMING!” Sam laughed out, amused, and now totally awake.   
“Huh! No way I got - “ Dean started.  
“ - BUT YOU DO!” Laughed Sam out, cutting Dean.  
“What??? Where???” Dean sounded affronted, as if he just got betrayed by his own body.  
“…not on your lower back though…” Said Sam, deep in thoughts. Dean relaxed and tried to turn his head backwards even more then it was already possible.  
“…then where?” Dean inquired, suddenly curious, as often as it was with him.  
“Here.” Said Sam, and traced three barely visible white lines, starting from Dean’s right armpit and going over his shoulder. “But they seem real old, Dean, how the hell I haven’t noticed them before..?” Wondered Sam.  
“Well, it’s not like you spend your spare time staring at my shoulders.” _But you do. I know._ “Let me see?”   
Sam shuffled around and brought up the mirror. “See any?” He asked, positioning it, trying to catch the right angle.  
“There, stop!” Dean blurted into the mattress. “Huh. Well I be damned. You are right.” He huffed silently, his cheek squashed.  
“Why, you thought I would lie…?” Scowled Sam.  
“No. It’s just. When a guy thinks he knows pretty much all there is to know about his own body… huh.” Dean mumbled, thoughtfully. “Where else?” He added, his expression all investigative and curious, as he rose to lean on his elbows.  
“Well…” Sam obliged and shuffled, getting off Dean’s back and putting the mirror aside. He concentrated on Dean’s shoulder blades first, his fingers going all over his brothers’ bare skin with the precision and interest of an archaeologist, examining some newly uncovered relic.  
As he proceeded, he moved lower and lower, slowly, looking closer and closer, until his bangs tickled the very surface of Dean’s skin.  
“Here… and - ” Sam’s spidery fingers gently traced four more thin lines on Dean’s other shoulder; “ - here…”; two more on Dean’s sides, over his ribs,  
 ” - and, weirdly enough, _here_.”, he said as he traced five or six more - they merged and separated randomly - over his inner thighs.   
  
It was hard to figure out as it was - the marks being quite old and hard to pin-point, and the light source was pretty useless, too: some intruding yellow from a local street lamp - a poor mishap of even poorer city planing; and the sickly white of the moon. Sam had to force his eyesight to its’ maximum.  
“There. All I can see right now.” He declared as he straightened up, “huh. It’s very personal, I guess. Varies from body to body…” he added in an afterthought. Still, he traced Dean’s spine, from tail bone to nape, searching for anything he might have missed, _just in case, meticulous as ever._  
  
He was so engrossed in his exploration, that it took him a moment to realize how silent and still Dean was, his face frozen and slightly tilted to the side.  
Sam’s palm finally rested on his brother’s neck and he turned to stare at Dean’s face.  
It was a sight to behold, and to get stunned by.  
  
Dean’s eyes obtained a conflicting and mismatching appearance: his left reflected the yellows of the street lamp, partially shadowed by a very well defined cheekbone and a frown, bleary and unfocused; the other - catching the moonlight - fixed and distant, as if it was staring past the window this whole time without blinking, all on its own, independent of its sister, dry and sharp.  
It took Sam by surprise, more then he would care to admit: It was beautiful.  
It was _alien._  
Sam shook it off. Suddenly it was too silent. “Dean…?” He prompted and sat back, retrieving his inquisitive hands. It was too uncanny for his brother to just shut up over a new, world-shattering discovery. A weird, misplaced kind of panic crawled over him, the stillness of the moment bothering him more and more.  
Dean finally budged and broke the illusion. He stretched his hands and buried his head under their shared pillow, giving no sound.  
“Good night Sammy.” He mumbled after a moment from under it and shut up.  
Sam was more then confused. He was _bewildered_. “…what…? Dean… what’s goin’ on…?” He tried to sound confident, but failed.  
There was no answer, no movement.   
Sam shuffled around and set cross legged, staring at his palms.  
He glanced at Dean’s back, now lit with a mix of yellow and white - sharp-edged - forms.   
Dean’s breath was so shallow, that the reflections seemed almost still. Sam couldn’t stop staring.  
And so he did. For a few whole minutes, silent as the room, as the street. As Dean.  
“Sammy… just. Go to sleep. Ok? Never mind it.” Eventually Dean mumbled.  
Sam bit his lip. It wasn’t something entirely new. It was going on for months now. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. Sam was suddenly very much aware, of recent events, of his own recent thoughts, of his  _surroundings, of the moonlight, the street lamp - that fuckin’ street lamp, Dean - Dean’s -_ “Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” Dean whispered, cutting Sam’s line of thought.  
“Yeah, no, it’s.” Sam silenced. Then, decidedly, he turned over and curled over on his side, facing the wall, taking up the rest of the mattress.  
His exhaustion faded entirely, leaving him with cold, lonely wakefulness and the feeling of _unfinished business._ It was as if a full chunk of his own flesh got ripped off, and was lying by his side - _silent and inanimate._  
Sam shuffled uneasily.  
Dean didn’t move.


	2. 03:10:29

Dean’s eyes were shut but he was fully awake. He stared at his own eyelids, seeing colors and little amorphic shapes moving around. He followed them in his thoughts, watching scenarios of his own life playing themselves out in front of him, _exaggerated pantomimes of my own existence._  
The 4th of July, last year.  
The following summer.  
A few months ago.  
 _Sometime after._  
Yesterday.

This past year… _was important._  His decision about school, Sammy - _Sam_ \- growing up a lot, especially for one year, tagging along on hunts more and more, being involved.  
Growing up. “Up” being the key word, definitely.  
  
Dean remembered being fourteen. It was a giant leap from thirteen. Light years away from twelve. _Huge difference._  
They talked about pretty much everything now - the hunt, the research, the rents, the motels, the car, dad, school, music, spells, food, sports, TV, movies, law, crime, actors _, people, strangers, dangers, hustles, knives, guns,_ _girls, boys, life, death, choices, rules, obligations, independence - fireworks - kissing - kisses - hands - shoulders - waist - back - stretch marks.  
_  
 _Stretch marks.  
_  
Dean felt his heart palpitate.  
  
From a scrawny, awkward kid to a  _demanding_ young teen.   
The transition was head spinning - his body, his voice, _his mind_ \- shooting up and becoming manlier and stronger and more able then ever, remembering more, accounting for more, responsible for more - _aware of more.  
_  
One year.  
One year is a lifetime when you are switching from thirteen to fourteen.   
Fourteen years ago…  
  
 _… a bundle_ \- nothing more. A silent, baby-blue little bundle.   
He was Dean’s to poke. To make silly noises and faces to. To squeeze little laughs out from - to tickle, hold, lift, carry - to hold on his tiny legs - to bounce around - to kiss his forehead - to silence his cries - to sing to off-key - to silence his cries _again_ \- to kiss goodnight - to wake up - to curl around - to hug tight - to calm - to assure - to reassure - to watch over - to make sure he crawled only on the carpet and far away from dangerous objects - like chairs and guns - to retrieve when he crawled too far - to hold his hands when he finally took his first steps, again, averting collisions with deadly chairs and guns - to drag around the room - to try to teach him how to say “Dad” and “Dean” - to be worried when he didn’t for a very long time - to be in total bliss when he eventually blurts a little perfect  _“Dean”_ - 

Dean choked.  
His _crazy train_ of thought was only gaining speed and it was reaching its _limits -_

 - his to clothe - his to feed - his to watch TV with - his to built little castles and fortresses with - using random objects and not so random ones - to try and teach him the alphabet - to fail - to teach him how to overcome his shoelaces - to succeed - to give him his first pocket knife when he turned four - to scratch their initials - S.W. - D.W. - 

 - It was a train wreck by now - 

\- his to teach profanities to - his to take care of - to hide the family secret from - to fail eventually - to comfort - to be at his side - to explain - to teach the basics of the right way of using a knife - to patch up - to train - to train _with_ \- to laugh _with_ \- to prank _with_ \- to fight _with_ \- to share his worries _with -_ to tell secrets _to_ \- to rely _on_ \-  to count _on_ - _to_ -

\- not much of a child, or a kid. Not even much of a younger teen - _an old soul_ - 

\- to hear secrets _from_ \- to advice _to_ \- to take advice _from_ - 

\- _to fight and argue on equal ground -_

Dean opened his eyes wide, staring into thin fabric, seeing nothing. The gleaming shapes and forms stayed glued up somewhere behind his eyeballs, not letting go. His mouth was a defined, stressed white line. He felt twitchy -

\- to take care _of_ \- to kiss and hug and comfort and patch up - _to kiss and hug and - and kiss - and -_

“FUCK!”

Sam jumped and stared at a very shocked, white faced Dean, eyes glazed, mouth wide open, all riled up and clearly in the process of figuring out an escape route. “What? What’s going on..?” He blurted, mirroring some of the urgency on autopilot.

The exclaim was too much of a double entendre, even for Dean, and he was shocked, pale and covered in cold sweat.  
“I’m… uh - I’ma - need a smoke. I, huh - “ Dean was mumbling and fighting the sheet.  
“What..? Dean. It’s the middle of the night.” Sam was way more confused then he cared to admit. "What the hell is wrong with you..?”

Dean turned and gave a crooked, lunatic, wide smile.

 _“Everything.”_ He whispered, accentuating his faults with a dramatic spread of his arms.  
Sam stared, bothered but curious.

Dean scrambled of the bed, dragging the sheet with him, stumbling and tripping. He managed to make his way to his leather jacket and leaned on the door frame, the sheet snaking after him. He attacked its pockets, shuffling anxiously through them, letting random objects _fall and hit the floor._  
As he fished the lighter and a pack of cigarettes (the cheapest brand, of course), he let out another anxious laugh, and shook his head.  
He took a step back, and then, decidedly went into the bathroom, shutting the door violently, resulting in a little cloud of dust.

“Don’cha smoke inside you dumbass!” Sam shouted the first thing that came to his mind. In one swift motion he got off and walked up to the bathroom door. “Dean, common! What’s gotten into you???”  
He leaned on the bathroom door, his sweatpants barely sticking to his skinny waist and dangling around his bare ankles miserably, and waited. Nothing happened. No sound was coming out.  
Sam squinted. Something was going on. Hell, something was building up, and he had it up to his limits now, and had to know. He was obnoxious and stubborn that way. He felt responsible, and he had to know.

Dean sat on the toilet lid.   
He was furiously rubbing his temples, the lit cigarette between his fingers scattering hot ashes all over, including himself.   
He didn’t care.  
“Sam! Go to sleep. I’m warning you.” He grumbled.  
Sam snorted. “You do realize this door isn’t exactly locked, right?”  
“…yes.”  
“So what’s your point…?”  
There was a moment of silence.  
“ _Older brother privilege._ ” Said Dean in a slow, gravely voice.  
“Fuck you, you overused that card. Are you OK?” Said Sam, annoyed. This night was getting ridiculous, even by his standards.  
“I’m fine.” A whisper. _Just got myself worked-up with overthinking. Stupid._  
Another moment of silence.  
“Liar.”An indecipherable tone.  
“Tell me something I don’t know!” A hoarse shout.

No answer.

Dean sighed and inhaled the nicotine, welcoming _the distraction._  
His eyes were everywhere: He cataloged four possible leaks, the broken tap, the jammed window, eight spots of mold, five different types of tile. _Five times._  
Those were particularly interesting.   
He focused on them.   
There was a cracked one just by his foot - thin line going from one edge to the other. Then, a chipped one, just above it - he let his right hand fall beside him to trace the missing piece. Then half a tile, plastered and hanging on god’s will. Dean grimaced to himself, his fingers tracing the sharp edge, _sharp enough to cut._  
And then there was a missing tile. He stared at the grey plaster and the fine web-like shape it left behind before leaving its post for good.  
He took a drag.  
“Sam. Last year. July. With the fireworks.” He finally managed to somewhat articulate his thoughts.  
“..Yeah…?” Was the cautioned answer.  
“Did you. Was that. Did you do that on purpose? I mean. That. Kiss.”

There, he finally said it. Admitted it. _It was a kiss._  
A scramble. Then Dean saw the door handle _pushed down, resisting, failing, giving up._  
Sam came in.   
They shared a long look.  
Sam approached. He had the advantage of standing on both feet, while Dean was sitting and a bit out of it.   
Dean had some conflicting feelings about that.  
Sam’s eyes moved all over Dean’s face - eyes, lips, hair. Considering. Calculating.  
Dean waited.  
So did Sam.

Dean reclined, spreading on the unhinged plastic lid as if it was a throne of some sort, and brought the half burnt cigarette up to his lips. And waited. The ball was in Sam’s park. His turn. Dean needed to hear his answer. It was the only thing to either open up a pit of endless depths before them or rather be the thing to close the lid on it for good. He couldn’t even decide which one he preferred.

Sam seemed to have come to a decision. He approached, his knees hitting the dented porcelain between Dean’s legs. He stopped right there, and, casually reaching, pulled the cigarette from between Dean’s lips, letting them part _just so, like I don’t know how it looks like, like I don’t know how I look like,_ and brought it to his own.

Dean smiled and gave out a little laugh. That was a familiar _thing_  - annoying, yes - but, _oh god, so distracting_ \- Sam did that _thing_ sometimes, Dean should have guessed what was coming. The first time that ever happened, Sam was _twelve._ It was just _a thing_ he would do. _Stealin’ my smokes._  
Only now he wasn’t sure, where the gesture was coming from - “I want to annoy you”, or “I want to turn you on” state of mind? Both seemed legit, only now his brains _(plural)_ gave the second one more emphasizing.

Sam straightened up, pursed his lips around the menacingly shortening cigarette, dragged, breathed in, and then, exhaling an impressive little cloud, he declared, “Yes.”  
Dean’s face was serious again in a blink of an eye. Sam was used to these sudden changes of expression, so he just took another drag and threw the bud into the sink. He brushed away his bangs and gave Dean a long, meaningful look.  
Dean bit his lower lip. He smiled a very painful smile.  
“Wow. Just wow. You are all over the place aren’t you. Didn’t you just throw a fit about ‘being normal’ just two states over…?”  
“Three.” Corrected Sam. “Indiana was three states over.”  
“Depends on how you count.” Smirked Dean, approaching dangerous, yet comfortably familiar waters.  
“Mathematically. Usually. How do _you_ count.”  
“That’s the point. _I don’t count_.” Said Dean, his stare dead-set on Sam.  
Sam’s face froze. His jaws clenched together. All the softness of his age flying out of the window. Said point was bear repeating, so Dean did.  
“ _I don’t count._ Not in this equesion of yours. I’m not. Is just is.” Dean shrugged, his _fake, fake, fake smile_ plastered on his face like a bad habit.  
It was awful. Dean saw how physically the world around his little brother shrank and collapsed on itself. Sam was clearly torn. His face paling, his determination faltering, his stance weakening.   
It took him all his courage to admit what he just admitted, _you heartless bastard, like he is to blame, how dare -  
_ Dean collected his sprawled limbs and adjusted himself, leaning forward, his forehead brushing over Sam’s stomach, staring at his own palms.. “I always thought it was kind of a bizarre accident, I really had no other explanation you know.” He whispered.  
Sam was on the verge of an instinctual fight or flight, the second one being more and more apparent. _I can’t let him go, not like that. Not him. Not Sammy.  
_ Dean grabbed Sam by his arms, and straightened up, his eyes locked on the tormented face before him. _Rejected._  
There was an abrupt intake of air, and Sam froze in his place, ready for scolding, harsh words, a mock.  
An animal, trapped, facing its captor.  
 _I’m guilty of that. It’s my fault._  
“I’m sorry.” Sam blurted and closed his eyes, as if getting ready for a blow. Dean’s eyebrows shot up. He huffed, and shook Sam a gentle - but firm - shake.  
“…What…? Sam no, that’s. Stop it, open your eyes I’m not gonna hurt you, why would you think that…?” Dean said, all bewilderment and pure confusion.  
“…I ask for too much, I’m. I’m. I can’t even decide what I want. I don’t. I am sorry…” Sam blabbed in response, eyes everywhere but on Dean.  
And then something gave in. Sam collapsed as he was, folding up, dragging Dean, who was still holding his arms, with him. There were no cries or sobs. Just helplessness and exhaustion - emotional on one hand; from a long day gone longer on the other. _Cavin’-in_.  
“Whoa!! Whoa, hey, everything is gonna be ok.. Sam… Common. Not here.”  
Dean did the first thing that came into his mind, and just flipped his surrendered-to-fate little brother’ limp body over his shoulder, and walked back to their bed -  _mattress -_ and flung him over. Sam covered his face with his both hands and whispered hoarsely, “…just leave me alone…”  
“No way, I sleep here too, remember.” Said Dean with a crooked smile.  
Then he flopped right over Sam.

Mortified, disbelieving, Sam.

“…For how long?” Dean whispered, their noses touching, the proximity making them both cross-eyed.  
“..huh..?”  
“For. How. Long. Simple question. For how long… you have this.. thing for me?” _Play the game. Go with it. Common. It will make it easier.  
_ “I.. can’t. Clock it, I think for. Forever.” Gulped Sam.  
“Sap.” _You twisted, selfish, empty shell of a person, that’s what you are.  
_ “..You don’t hate me…?”   
“What? No.” _You aren’t at fault here. I should’a been more careful.  
_ “Say, Sam. That girl from your last school, Kate. You liked her?” Dean asked, as mundane as possible.  
“Y..Yeah. Sure. Why do you ask…?” Sam had no idea where Dean was going with this. This was new.  
“And that. Penny, cute little thing from, oh, like half a year ago?” Dean kept inquiring, eyes wide, foreheads bumping.  
“Sure. I liked her.” Sam was curious now. _Focused._  
“Tina?”  
“Yes.”  
“Amanda?”  
“Yes.”  
“Jenny?”  
“Uh, so-so.”  
“Uh… Laura?”  
“Definitely.”  
“Heather?”  
“Yes.”  
“Ethan.”  
“Yes.”   
A silence took place.  
“You bastard.” Sam snorted.   
“Yeah well, nothing new. Just had a hunch. Had to check it.” Dean smiled a wide, cheshire smile.  _Thought so. At least he’s got a good excuse._ “Hey Sam. Tell me…” Dean shifted. Now he was comfortably propped on his right hand, his left free to go rake through Sam’s unruly hair.   
“What?” Smiled Sam in response.  _Smiling. This is good.  
_ “When you kissed - “   
“I never kissed.” Sam said. To quickly.  
“What?” Dean was unsure of what he just heard. “I thought..”  
“I never kissed any of them.” Confessed Sam, all too serious.  
“OK. OK, but you wanted too. Right? Imagined it?” _OK, good enough. No. Actually THIS IS BAD.  
_ “…Not exactly.” Now it was Sam who turned to look straight at Dean. He shuffled around, eventually finding the right angle so their eyes would be on the same level. “I never… imagined kissing them.” He said, the creeping redness over his cheeks somewhat affecting his determination.  
Dean felt the reins being pulled out from his hands. He had to correct this. It was getting off trail. He had a good guess about who Sam did imagine kissing.  
“July of last year doesn’t count, Sammy. That is what we grown-ups call a 'peck on the lip’. It’s not actual kissing.” Dean proclaimed, dryly, as if he was presenting statistical information.  
“Depends on how you count.” Smirked Sam, now blushing so vividly, that it was apparent even under _that fuckin’ yellow street lamp, erasing all the beautiful colors, making them dull and lifeless and so untrue -_.  
“Bitch.”  
“Jerk.”

_Mine to kiss._

Dean’s fingers traveled from Sam’s hair to his temple. His cheekbone. His eyebrow. The bridge of his nose, the little hollow under it, _where angels put their finger to shush the soul,_ his upper lip - pink and plush, _like a girl._  
Sam was still as stone, eyes faltering shut. Not daring to breath. It was a _now or never_.

“Sam. I - ” Dean whispered, and leaned in. 

_\- am not sorry._


	3. 04:08:39

_Tar, cinder, cheap, cheap cigarette smoke. Toothpaste._  
 _Ashen, ashen mint._  
…what the hell am I doing…?  
  
Clashing teeth, tongues missing their targets - a small catastrophe, that’s what it was - no rhythm, no finesse. A misfit. A crude version of a kiss.

_Stupid._

Sam snugged his face in the crook of Dean’s neck, _blushing hot.  
_ “Whohaa hey - that’s, that’s not how you suppose to go about it!” chuckled Dean, shuffling around, trying to find his balance.  
“Screw you… I think I bit you…” Mumbled Sam into Dean’s collarbone, then turned over hiding his face in the crook of his elbow.   
“So what…? I’ll survive a little bite. Hey. Common. I thought you.” Dean swallowed hard, nervous.  
“Thought what. I have no fuckin’ idea what I’m doing.” Whispered Sam.   
 _Well if it’s any consolation, me neither._  
Dean sighed.  
“Ok, look. Its not. It’s NOT rocket science. _Just_.” Dean set up, scratching at his neck, confused and a bit out of it. This was a new terrain.  
“Just. Lets put things into the, uh, right perspective, ok? Look at me?” Dean asked, surprisingly calm and collected, more than he cared to admit.

Sam exhaled and slid his arm over his head, revealing a confused, a wincing, sell-shocked look.   
He was tense, _like a log -_ fists clutched, face red; his hair a total mess and getting in his eyes. His heart rate was thumping at his throat, _I can see your pulse. I can count the beats._  
Dean reclined beside him, looking for something - _anything_ \- to latch on, _to steady my mind, to fix my attention to fight this thing to -_  
“Uh.. Sorry, I. Panicked.” Murmured Sam to the ceiling, waving a hand in dismissal. “… sorry… just forget it.”  
Dean bit his lip. “Look. I. Where do I… fuck, I mean.”  
 _…There aren’t enough fuckin’ words for this in the fuckin’ Oxford dictionary for crying out loud._  
Sam kept his eyes on the ceiling, calming down.   
Dean swallowed and exhaled. Calming his nerves. “Sammy.”   
“…’m here.”  
Then Dean mumbled, indecipherable. _  
…perfect._  
“What did you just say…?” Sam was in a little awe, at what he heard, and rolled his eyes over at Dean, his eyebrows shooting up in total disbelief.  
“I said…. _practice makes perfect_.” Snickered Dean. _Humor. Go for the humor._  
Sam had no good answer. “Are you. Are you high…?” He frowned.  
“…You know what I mean.”  
There was a long moment of silence, while Sam was seemingly toying with a thought. Dean cautiously observed. _What now…?_  
Sam’s expression became very thoughtful all of a sudden as he turned over and propped up on his elbows. “Hey, Dean… when was _your_ first kiss?” _  
_ Dean stared.  
 _…What?…_  
“I… never thought about it. I. Don’t remember.” _I don’t remember.  
_ “The fuck that means.” Sam stared, a weary smile on his face. “It’s not like you were born with the skill. How do you even forget your own first kiss…?”  
Dean blinked, taken aback. “I dunno. Let me think about it.“ _No, really._   
“Ok, it was definitely before that disaster with Elsie…. That thing. Oh I was.. twelve? I think? You mean… just lips-on-lips first kiss or like, an actual kiss…?” Dean was looking at Sam with his eyebrows unevenly raised, a questioning expression on his face.  
Sam watched his big brother like he was interrogating a criminal - looking for clues in his voice and body language, squinting.  _Professional.  
_ ”..any kind.”  
Dean thought about it. _Oh. OH._  
Shit.  
“…so?” Asked Sam, persisting.   
  
Dean was silent for a moment.  
In a span of a millisecond, his face went from total blankness, to a mixed state of a little emotional turmoil. Sam prepared himself, curious.

At first - Dean seemed horrified, but then - he just laughed.   
A loud, disproportional laugh, his head thrown back, his chest heaving. All in all, he looked a bit unhinged, licking his bottom lip casually while trying to catch his breath.  
Sam had to know.  
"You do know I’m not gonna leave you in peace till you tell me, right?” Sam said, sitting up and giving his best assessing-the-situation-slightly-judging-you look.   
Dean took in some air and coughed. He was obviously very amused by the situation.   
“Oh boy. You aren’t gonna sleep whatever is left from this night if I tell you.”  
“There is no night left, it’s practically dawn, Dean.” Sam said, with a condescending tone.  
“Ok, ok. So umm. When I was.. oh, maybe seven? I think I was seven, or - or eight?… Wait, it’s weirder then you think.” Chuckled Dean at Sam’s widening, disbelieving eyes.   
“Dad took us to Pastor Jim’s, that I remember. You were too small to care. So. One d-day, after school, and, we, we were living in Jim’s guest house, if you remember from later visits - “   
“ - yeah…” Said Sam.  
“ - so, I come over to dad, and go about this thing I saw that day, like, a boy and a girl - how I phrased it? _Eating each other’s lips away._ Not kidding. I remember it now, cause dad…well…” Dean licked his lips and then fell silent.   
“…well?” Pressed Sam.  
“Well until I asked why they were doing it. And he said - he said. ‘That’s how people sometimes show how much they… l-love each other, when they are a couple.’ And I didn’t know what a couple means, except it meant, well ‘two’.”  
Realization began creeping over Sam’s face.  
“Dean…”   
“I got very upset, you know.” Dean said, silent, to himself.  
“Why?”  
“Because. We are _three_. Me and you and dad. That’s why. Anyway. after I finished with being sad, I got angry. Then I just. Well. Walked over to you. You were sitting on one of those wooden pews, and I smacked one on your lips. Then I went over to dad, who was way to engrossed in his conversation with good ol’ Pastor Jim to notice, and I climbed one of those damn pews and grabbed his face - “  
Dean smiled a wide, half amused, half shy smile and covered his face with his hands. "Oh god why the fuck am I telling you this…?” he snorted.  
“So… let me get this straight. Your first kiss was with a three-year-old. Then, you managed _to kiss dad in a catholic church. In front of a Pastor._ ” Sam summarized, amused.  
“Yeah… he didn’t take it well. Jim, I mean. Dad was too horrified and confused too - I got a whole lecture about kissing and that I am ‘ _not to dare this again till I’m at least sixteen and far away from his sight._ ’” Dean added with mixed amusement, since that obviously never came to pass.  
“…You are outrageous.” Concluded Sam with a wide smile and a snort.  
Dean barked a small laugh of the self-deprecating kind. “You don’t say… Oh god, how the fuck did you drag that story out of me. I swore to take it to the grave, you know.” Dean added. He clumsily maneuvered to the wall and leaned on it, half sprawling.   
He gave out a long sigh.  
  
“This night was _a disaster._ ” He finally declared, snickering to himself.  
“Yeah….” Agreed Sam, as he shifted and turned to rest at his brothers side.  
“Hey. Dean… does it mean… we were. Well technically… each others… firsts?” Squeezed Sam with a grimace.  
“…I… wouldn’t think about it too much if I were you, Sammy.” Answered Dean, his stare blank and a bit overwhelmed.   
“…too chick-flick?” Offered Sam.  
“Yeah. Too chick-flick.” Mumbled Dean silently. He shifted and wrapped a hand over Sam’s shoulders, pulling him _closer just a bit closer._  
They leaned on the cold wall at the head of the mattress, silent and a bit stiff, watching the first rays of the sun creeping over the opposite side of the room.  
Sam finally loosened a bit, easing into Dean’s side.   
“…can I… can we… sometime…I dunno. Try again. I guess.” Mumbled Sam, almost inaudible. He cleared his throat and stared down, hiding from the world behind his unruly patches of hair.   
“…sure Sammy…” Answered Dean, mostly to himself, with a frown.  
Sam relaxed at that.  
Dean just felt detached and afloat.  
“…Dad is gonna be back soon, I need to meet him downstairs…” He said softly, his words directed more to the air around him than anything else. “…He doesn’t know on what floor we are exactly.”  
”…oh. Ok.” Said Sam. He was falling asleep, _at last. Exhausted. We are. I am.  
_ Dean stared at the flakes of dust floating aimlessly in the slow, too bright, rays of morning sunshine, his eyes changing focus from one particle of nothing to the other.   
_Looking for a target like a hitman on a rooftop - this is me and this is me._  
And just like that, the sun was up. Harsh and blinding. The night was over  _like it never was at all_. Dean squinted on instinct. The random flakes jittered with a sudden gust.  
 _Like prisoners trying to escape but get caught in the spotlight of the watching towers in the movies._  
 _Just like me I don’t want that light on me I’ve gotta stay still or they’ll get me -  
_ _\- I can’t move I _’ve gotta stay still -_  
\- I just wanna stay still ’s all…_  
Dean’s grip over Sam’s shoulder tightened. _…tires. TIRES.  
_ TIRES.  
 _Dad._

**Author's Note:**

> Stretch marks appear on males as much as on females - just for other reasons, and are… well - less covered by the media


End file.
